


you're all I need

by transkylo (captainandor)



Series: when the lights are low [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Established Relationship, Flirting, I know nothing about the inner workings of politics, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Trans Character, but i try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 09:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainandor/pseuds/transkylo
Summary: “Do your colleagues know how fucking possessive you are?” Kylo asks, canting his hips back, pressing into Hux’s touch as far as he can.Hux grins. “Does your mother know that you sleep with her political rivals?”Kylo’s laugh is breathy and uneven. “I don’t make a habit of it.”





	you're all I need

**Author's Note:**

> this au is Chloe's fault bc she's a terrible enabler who listened to Havana by Camila Cabello in her car and gave me _ideas_
> 
> It will be part of a short series as well so keep ur eyes peeled for more where this came from :)))

Later, he thinks, he’ll be embarrassed at how quickly he’d left the conference room and made a beeline for the bar, not quite sprinting, but speed walking nevertheless, to get alcohol in his system. He’ll possibly even be ashamed of the way he downs one drink, and orders a second, within minutes of arriving. Later – but not yet. 

It’s been a long five days, discussing border control and diplomacy, the conversation going round in enough circles to make even the most seasoned politicians dizzy, and Hux really needs a break. 

He has a brief moment of envy for his Deputy, Phasma, who’s still back at home, avoiding this disaster of a summit. When he’d first mentioned the trip to Cuba, she’d been jealous. _Fuck,_ she’d said, kicking her feet up on the desk despite Hux’s glare, _I wish I was coming. Think of all the babes strolling along the beach._ He hadn’t bothered to tell her that there’d be no time for ogling _babes_ on the beach, even if he had the capacity to feel so inclined. It was to be more or less work, work, and more work, from the moment the plane landed on Cuban soil, till the moment it touched back down in England. 

The bartender shoots him a sympathetic smile as he pours Hux a second glass of whiskey. “Rough day?” he asks, passing it over to Hux’s waiting hands. He knows, by now, to add it to the tab he’d already opened, without it being mentioned. Hux might feel guilty about that later, too. 

“Something like that.” He replies, rubbing at his temples. 

“You can’t stay melancholy in the Cuban sun,” the bartender promises, flashing him a grin. Hux huffs out a laugh in response, wondering if he’d have read more into that, if circumstances were a little different. The bartender is good looking enough, he supposes; sun-kissed skin and deep brown eyes, but Hux has already set his sights elsewhere. 

He hears a familiar laugh in the distance, and feels his lips stretch into a smile. “I think you might be right.” He says. 

Moments later, a familiar figure stops beside him at the bar, bare forearms leaning against the dark, polished wood. He feels the corner of his lip tugging up into another grin – Kylo seems to have that effect on him. He keeps his face directed forwards, studying the glow of the fairy lights wrapped around the shelves of alcohol at the back, though he continues to watch in his periphery. 

“Hello, Kylo.” He says.

Kylo lifts a hand to attract the attention of the bartender, then looks at the side of Hux’s face. “Hey,” he greets, “Just so you know, my Mom is like, twenty feet away, and if you so much as stand an inch too close to me, she’ll cut your dick off.”

This, at least, manages to pull Hux’s lips into a proper smile, and finally he turns to face the young man standing next to him. Kylo, free from any dress code restraints, is wearing a black tank top and knee length shorts, a selection of beaded and knotted bracelets adorning one of his wrists. A tan is starting to work its way across his shoulders, and it suits him. 

The bartender pauses on the other side, eyebrows raised patiently. Kylo starts to order, but Hux lifts a hand to interrupt. “He’ll have a vodka. Put it on my tab.” 

The best part about his job, Hux reckoned, was the travelling, and with travelling, came the excuse to frequent whatever bar or private club he was granted access to. The fact that this hotel had their private bar and lounge open to the sea air was an added bonus. 

“I see chivalry is alive and well.” Kylo replies. The way he’s leaning on the bar should be illegal, and Hux doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eye strays, following the line of his bare shoulder and the way it slopes down to the subtle curve of his hip. 

“Is it?” 

Kylo’s drink is slid across to him, and he picks it up with a quiet nod of thanks to the man behind the bar, before lifting it to his lips to take a sip. “Looks like it from here.”

“Kylo Ren,” Hux says, fixing him with a look, “Are you flirting with me?”

Kylo, the absolute devil that he is, turns so that his spine is arched ever so slightly, giving Hux a perfect view of his arse, and honest-to-God flutters his eyelashes. Hux thinks he might have an aneurism, right here, surrounded by politicians. He pushes his half empty glass of whiskey away, fearing he might do something stupid, like break it, and takes a steadying breath. Later, he thinks, when he gets Kylo alone – 

“There you are, Kylo.” Leia Organa says, stopping on Kylo’s other side. She’s holding an empty wine glass in one hand, her purse in the other. Despite her lack of height, she always manages to look impossibly distinguished – it’s always been something that’s grated on Hux’s nerves, much like everything else about her. 

Kylo straightens up at the sound of his mother’s voice. “Mom,” he says, shooting Hux a glance that looks somewhat apologetic. Something in her son’s voice must alert Leia, because she leans around him, fixing Hux with a penetrating stare. 

“Mr Hux.” She says, all artful feigned politeness and a practiced smile, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” The _with my son_ goes unspoken, but Hux sees it plain as day, written across her face. 

“Yes, well,” he motions towards his empty glass, trying, very carefully, to position himself just a little bit further away from Kylo without her noticing, “You know as well as I do that these events can be very difficult to navigate without some amount of alcohol in the system.” 

To his surprise, she looks mildly amused. “You’re a man after my own heart, Armitage,” she says, “When the mood strikes you.” 

He inclines his head. “Am I? It’s a shame about your political stances,” 

“Shame about _yours_ ,” she quips, then turns to put a hand on her son’s elbow, “Kylo, could you get me another glass of red and bring it over to the table?"

“Sure,” he replies, plucking the glass from her hand.

She gives him a warm smile, then turns to Hux, expression falling perfectly neutral. “Good evening,” 

When she’s gone, Hux lets his shoulders sag a little, away from Leia's careful scrutiny. “You’re quite sure she doesn’t know?” he asks Kylo, who’s just finished ordering his mother another drink. 

Kylo pushes a hand back through his hair, “Trust me,” he says, “If she suspected anything, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

It’s a shame, really, that Hux can’t flaunt Kylo in public like he wants to. Even just the simplest act of being able to touch Kylo, the smallest things – standing close with their shoulders pressed together, placing his hand in the gentle curve at the base of Kylo’s spine – are strictly off limits. It would be completely unprofessional, and he’s more than aware that Leia Organa would personally murder him if she even thought he had anything less than the most honourable intentions with her son. 

And as it would happen, his intentions with Kylo are anything but. 

“Come by my room, later.” He says, dropping his voice low. He doesn’t dare reach his hand out, not even to brush their fingers together on the surface of the bar. “I want to see you.”

Kylo’s answering smile is coy. “I’ll be there.” He replies, making a display of the way he drags his gaze along the entire length of Hux’s body, eyes impossibly dark.

He pays for Leia’s drink, then picks up both the fresh glass of wine and his own, barely touched vodka. Neither of them are particularly big drinkers, but he can’t deny that the alcohol thrumming pleasantly in his veins hadn’t had at least something to do with how emboldened he’d felt just those few nights ago, when he’d finally plucked up the courage to actually speak to the other man alone. He knew that his time was short – Kylo would be here a week, ten days, at the very most, and then Hux would have lost his chance. He had no idea if or when the opportunity would arise again. 

“I look forward to it,” he replies, watching as Kylo disappears into the crowds. He’s tall enough that Hux is able to follow him all the way to the other side of the patio, where his Mother has been conversing with some Cuban diplomats. He gives in to temptation and orders himself another drink, feeling brave enough at this distance to admire Kylo fully without fear of Leia spotting him. He’d be dead, literally and figuratively, if she did. To be seen openly flirting – never mind the fact that they’d already done much more than that – with the son of a political opponent would end Hux’s career before he’d had the chance for it to really begin. 

Forcing himself to turn away, Hux pulls his mobile phone out of his pocket, glancing briefly at the screen. He swipes away several reminders from Phasma. Despite knowing how meticulously organised he is, she still insists on sending him regular emails and text messages regarding work. From anyone else, it would annoy him, but he can tolerate Phasma doing it. If she didn’t, he’d know something was wrong. 

He sends her a quick message confirming the three o’clock meeting the following week, and pockets his phone. 

The night seems to stretch ahead of him – it’s barely gone eight o’clock, and he knows he won’t be safe to see Kylo until closer to midnight. Certainly, he can’t go back to his room at this hour without rousing suspicion, especially if Kylo disappears around the same time. 

He resigns himself to making idle and largely boring chat with a couple of diplomats at a nearby table until, at a quarter to midnight, he spots Kylo eventually leaving, a half hour before his Mother, fiddling with his mobile phone.

Hux feels his own vibrating in his pocket, but refrains from looking just yet. No doubt it's something brazen and flirtatious that will bring colour to his cheeks. He waits until he sees Leia saying her own goodbyes and leaving, before he makes his own excuses. 

***

“Come here often?” Kylo tries, with a smirk, as Hux closes the door behind him and twists the lock. The look on his face says he’s got Hux exactly where he wants him, and he doesn’t care how smug he looks about it. 

Hux, halfway through taking off his jacket when Kylo arrived, finishes folding it neatly and sets it down on the ottoman at the end of the bed. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows, not missing the way Kylo’s eyes follow the movement. “That,” Hux says, “Is possibly the worst pickup line I have ever had the misfortune to have heard.” 

“Is it really a pickup line if I've already got what I want?” 

Hux’s lip twitches up at the corner, and he steps towards Kylo, closing the gap between them until they’re only inches away. This close, he can feel the heat radiating from Kylo’s skin, can almost count the varying shades of colour that make up his irises.

“Do you, now?” He asks.

Kylo tips his head. “Well, I’ve already got you in the palm of my hand, don’t I?” 

Hux laughs at this. “You think highly of yourself, don’t you? You really are your Mother’s son.” 

“If not for me," Kylo says, ignoring the comment about Leia, “Then why else are we here?” 

“Mm,” Hux hums, and reaches up with one hand to play with the collar of Kylo’s loose tank top. “We’re here,” he says, trailing his fingers down Kylo’s breastbone, teasingly slow, “Because we both want the same thing.”

It’s not quite the truth, but the honest answer is dangerously soft, and Hux refuses to think on it, let alone voice it aloud. 

“Yeah?” Kylo’s eyebrow quirks, “Take your clothes off, then.”

Hux’s answering smirk is devilish as he reaches up to leisurely unbutton his shirt, as though he has all the time in the world. Impatient, Kylo grabs two fistfuls of the fabric and pulls, the buttons flying off with the force of his strength and cascading onto the floor. Hux barely has time to be annoyed at the mess before Kylo is shoving the shirt back off his shoulders, and lifting his own arms up obligingly to allow Hux to tug his tank top off, slipping out of it and letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

Hux runs a gentle thumb over the faint pink tissue of the twin scars beneath Kylo's breast, so agonisingly slow and careful that Kylo has to swat his hand away.

“Don’t.” he says, voice strained. 

“Don’t what?” Hux glances up at him, “Appreciate you?” 

Kylo frowns, mouth upturning. “Don’t be so fucking – gentle.” 

“Oh, I see.” Hux says, sliding his palms down instead and grasping at the firm flesh of Kylo’s clothed backside. “You’d prefer me to be rougher?”

Without waiting on a verbal answer, Hux spins Kylo around on the spot, so that he’s pressed along the full length of Kylo’s back, nudging his cock against the curve of Kylo’s arse. The view from this angle is spectacular, he muses idly, resting his chin on Kylo’s shoulder and setting his gaze out the French doors that lead onto the balcony. Kylo’s breathing hitches somewhere in his throat. 

“Nnh.” He says, “Fuck.” His teeth sink into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“I’d fuck you right out on the balcony if I could.” He continues, teeth grazing the shell of Kylo’s ear, “Let the whole world see.” 

“Do your colleagues know how fucking possessive you are?” Kylo asks, canting his hips back, pressing into Hux’s touch as far as he can. 

Hux grins. “Does your mother know that you sleep with her political rivals?”

Kylo’s laugh is breathy and uneven. “I don’t make a habit of it.”

He can’t deny his jealous streak, not when a spark of possessiveness runs right through him at Kylo’s words. So he’s the first – not just another in a long list of politicians he’s fucked out of sheer rebelliousness. 

He skates his hand down over the jut of hipbone, slipping his fingers below the waistband of Kylo’s shorts, teasing. Kylo’s responding moan reverberates somewhere deep in his chest, and Hux knows they’re both done for. Idly, he thinks about the possibilities of taking this out to the balcony, weighs up the risks of being seen, and knows that they’re high. It’s a fantasy he’ll never get to indulge. 

Retracting his hand, Hux takes a step away, unable to hide his amusement as Kylo curses to himself and spins around at the sudden loss of contact. “We’re still far too dressed.” He says, backing towards the bed, beckoning Kylo with a flick of the hand. 

“You’re a fucking tease.” Kylo accuses, advancing on him nevertheless. 

Hux’s calves hit the edge of the mattress, and he falls down willingly at the barest push of Kylo’s palm, flat against his chest. “I know.” He replies, “What are you going to do about it?”

**Author's Note:**

> talk star wars 2 me @translkylo


End file.
